


Piece by Piece

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Jigsaw Puzzles, implied stragan if you look at it really closely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'll figure something out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piece by Piece

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post [here](http://the-wonderful-jinx.tumblr.com/post/140452238479/buckybabs-the-next-prompt-for-the-next-chapter)

It’s game night for the staff of PNWS. And although he has worked with Alex Reagan for so many months, the interns only allow him into the break room when Alex tells them to stop barricading the door.

He finds them working on a jigsaw puzzle, one thousand pieces for the twenty people. The trampled box on the floor depicts what he calls a Thomas Kinkade knock-off; a tiny cottage in the woods with sickly sweet, watercolor fall foliage, and garishly painted sunset that burns his eyes. Trite as it is, he finds a sense of amusement and peace watching college age kids bounce around the  table trying to put this tie-dye monstrosity together. They have the edges and the corners filled in, Alex and Nic hunt for the cabin pieces at a separate table, and the producers fight over take-out establishments. The scene before him warrants a puzzle all of its own.

“What are you smiling about?” the intern closest to him snaps, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Just amazed that your bosses pay you do to do these kinds of things,” he teases. He tries to be friendly despite the past months of being the victim of their numerous pranks and passive-aggressive bantering. They scowl, his effort of peace-making wasted. It is then he remembers that they weren't the one’s who disappeared for three months without warning. He made himself their enemy: the one who was driving their bosses up the wall and keeping them from sleep, the one who tried to get the higher-ups to do something illegal, the one who put Alex in danger. He could get them arrested, sued, killed, he could call them every vile insult under the sun, and they would tolerate it. But they would never forgive him for abandoning Alex.

 _You’re lucky she took you back. You don’t deserve to be here. What does she see in you. She doesn’t need you. Go away. Go Away. GO AWAY,_ scream the cold eyes, down-turned lips, and furrowed brows of college students who would gladly kill him in they were ordered to. He wouldn’t be surprised if they _could_ kill him with the tiny cardboard pieces in their fists. (He saw one take out a stalker with only a roll of duct tape once.)

Thankfully, Alex comes to his rescue with a wide smile on her face. Bright and welcoming as she is, it only lightens the glaringly obvious dark circles slowly creeping up from the concealer under her eyes. But he keeps his mouth shut (so he doesn’t rile up the interns) and lets Alex guide him to the table. Nic excuses himself, saying he wants to make sure the producers didn’t go over the food budget, leaving him alone with Alex and an unfinished puzzle home before him. He can feel the eyes of the interns on him, prickly and freezing like placing a hand on a metal fence in winter.

“How good are you at puzzles Doctor Strand?” she asks as she continues fiddling with some pieces. She grins when she makes a connection, she frowns when her intuition fails her.

“Puzzles, in a way, are like the cases I work; sources equal pieces. And in the end they must come together to build a bigger picture.” he states, albeit with more pride than necessary.

She blinks.“Yeah, but that doesn’t answer my question," she says, avoiding his eyes and trying her best to mitigate the pain of hurting his pride. (He's flattered by her tact.)

His shoulders slacken. The interns snicker at his failed attempt of peacocking for their boss.

“Yes,” he says flatly, “I think I’m fair at them.”

She perks up, clapping her hands in glee. They get to work immediately and as soon as he stands by her side, a swarm of interns flood their table, pushing him out of the way, taking their table and jamming next to her table, and loudly volunteering their services to help.  Alex simply laughs. Unaware or uncaring of his plight? He doesn’t know, but he does know that his place is precarious at best. She’ll pick him over herself any day, but Nic, Amalia, the interns, the producers --her friends, the _real_ ones, not his brand of friendship with its secrets and double dealings-- have precedent, as though he never came into her little world in the first place.

He has to fight for a spot back at the table, farther away from Alex. But he soon realizes that for every piece he places,he finds himself slightly closer to the podcast host’s side. _If you want her, work for it,_ the interns say silently with glimmering eyes betraying their amusement of his distress.

Frustrated but determined, he works. He’s not as good as he thought he was, colors begin to look alike and merge in contrast to stark black and white words on printer paper or crackly audio recordings. He isn’t as fast as Alex or the interns, but he fights for his pieces and his placement. They don’t make it easy. They steal, hide, misplace, even take out pieces already in place to hinder him. It takes all his self control not to call them out of their childish behavior or flip the table. He’s only here on Alex’s good word, and he will do no such thing to sully it and give the interns a real reason to chase him away. 

Nine hundred and ninety nine pieces and a quick snack break later, the puzzles is almost complete. Just one more piece --a golden yellow piece to fill in the warm glow in the cabin window coming from the open hearth-- and it will be done. The interns check their pockets, the floors, under furniture, even chase the producers off the couch in search, but that singular, damnable piece cannot be found. 

“No one is getting ice cream until that piece is found.” Alex says, arms folded, looking like a teacher scolding her class into submission. Surprisingly, the interns take off to scour the rest of the office for the missing piece. Some head to the cubicles, others to the studio. When the last intern trails out, he realizes he is alone with Alex at the almost finished puzzle. Nic and the producers are too busy talking about something to notice (or care) about him being in such close proximity to her.

He notices a small smirk forming on her lips like she has a secret. It reminds him of trickster fairies in old fairy tale books, not entirely hateful of humanity, but enough contempt to throw them in a loop. She catches his gaze, winks, and pulls out the last piece from her back pocket. She holds it out for him to see. The piece’s yellow paint --whether its a trick of the lighting or he needed new glasses-- seems to glow, imitating that of the fireplace it’s supposed to represent.

“Want to do the honors?” 

“I’m flattered,” he says. He takes it from her, smiling, hoping he appears charming and at ease and not like he had to fight a mental battle with her damnable, loyal interns.

For a brief moment their fingers touch. He makes no mention of the spark he seems to feel and that nonchalant smile betrays none of her secrets. She has gotten better at hiding her emotions, he isn’t sure if he should applaud her or be worried. 

He places the last jigsaw piece into the slot. The box art doesn’t do whats before them justice. There’s something charming about the tacky design that puts him at ease. He hears her sigh and then feels the weight of her pressed against his side. His gaze stays fixed on the warm, yellow glow emitting from the puzzle. For a brief moment, he fantasizes: he and Alex are staying at a cabin in the woods, just like the one in the puzzle. They’re researching cryptids that supposedly lurk around the small town. There are no demons. Alex is not suffering from insomnia. He is out of the media’s watchful eye. Most importantly of all, they are happy with whatever relationship they salvaged  from the hell they call now.

He feels a warmth creeping up on his hand that he knows is not from a fireplace. He looks down and finds that Alex’s hand is tightly grasping his, not so much that it’s painful, but tight enough to let him know that she’s still stands by him. 

Her grip tightens for a second before it relaxes. She tilts her head, resting it on his arm (she’s too short to rest it on his shoulder when they’re standing). She sighs. 

_Do you still trust me? Even after putting you through all this shit._

 He contemplates on the silent questions, rolls it around in his brain like a stone in a tumbler to smooth it out before making his decision. He only needs half a second to decide. He laces his fingers between hers and squeezes. He doesn’t let go.

_I still trust you Alex. Do not take all the blame for yourself._

_Will you stay?_

Their relationship --whatever they call it: partnership, friendship, love, love-to-hate, frenemy-- is not as simple as a one thousand piece puzzle. They do not have the luxury of a box to show them what their end goal is. (And if he's to hazard a guess, he doubts its as pretty as the picture on the box.) Piece by piece, tape by tape, and the years, months, or days they have left, they will figure something out. They always do. 

_I'll stay._

They smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If there are any errors or ooc-ness, please let me know!


End file.
